This Too Is Love

This Too Is Love

Once, in their 80’s, my aunt and
uncle from South Georgia visited the big city

of Jackson, MS, driven here
by my youngest brother, who possesses a knack

for time travel—
for example, among the azaleas outside

his suburban home, he planted
the old cast-iron dinner bell from our

four-generation family farm where
the same aunt and uncle raised cows and hogs,

picked peppers, and mended fences
with other pieces of ragged wire fence. But that

broken bell has yet to sprout anything
besides more time

and rust—the clapper gone, the mount
cracked like cast-iron

will do. During their visit,
my aunt fell in the middle of the night,

lodged herself between
the bathroom toilet and wall. My uncle pulled

and yelled at a pitch
that could pierce the deepest creek bottom

till I stumbled on the scene—
the stray panties down, the flowered nightgown

not covering much, and the look
on their faces like a helpless animal they loved

had wandered off and desperately
needed a kind neighbor to bring it back to them.


2 thoughts on “This Too Is Love

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